


Not All That Glitters

by agirlmustwrite



Series: Not All That Glitters [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dark Durins, Gold Sick Fíli, Gold Sick Thorin, Gold Sickness, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied Sexual Content, Kili's a little cinnamon roll, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Not Kili, People Hunting, kill me, not really - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlmustwrite/pseuds/agirlmustwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Durin's survive the Battle. As does the Dragon Sickness. Not all that glitters is gold, and gods help those who dare to shine in the shadow of the mountain. Dark AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All That Glitters

**Author's Note:**

> So.. I decided to do something dark! :D  
> Well, dark for me, and I really have a vanilla mind. So! Background!  
> The Line of Durin survive the Battle! But Thorin still has a hint of gold sickness. Once realizing this, Kili takes it upon himself to leave in search of a cure. But his departure only served to spread the madness not only through his uncle, but to his brother as well.  
> This has nothing to do with my previous Tolkien fanfiction, so please don't expect the same characterization I had of Fili in Someday or I'm Fili. Nor my characterization of Thorin in The World Was Wide Enough.  
> Okay, in done ranting! Please comment or Kudo. Or both! :D  
> Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. I'm just a sad writer who is playing in the sandbox of a a god

_ “Gold conjures up a mist about a man, more destructive of all his old senses and lulling to his feelings than the fumes of charcoal.” ~Charles Dickens _

 

His heart thumped like a war drum as he pressed himself against the broken pillar, hoping to blend in. He was suddenly reminded of a very similar situation, where the heat he felt was radiated off a gargantuan reptile, instead of his own fear boiling in his stomach. How he wished he was hiding from a dragon.

The crunch of a boot against the gold on the stone floor sent his blood cold. It was the only sound resenting through the chamber. It wasn't even even a stomp, just a menacing click of a heel meeting  stone. It was approaching him and he snuck a glance at the gleaming light of the sun peaking through a crevice in the mountain.

'If that light dies, and I have not yet found you, then you may return to your hovel.’

The threat rung in his ear, and anxiety ran through him as the light began to sum. The footsteps came closer, and he was so close to winning. After Yavanna knows how many attempts of this little game, he was finally so close to being free. All he needed was more time. Just a bit more.

He hesitantly reached into his pocket, and felt the thrum of the ring. It promised wicked things as he held it up to his sight. Promised to show him horrific sights should he wear it. But as the boots came to a stop behind the pillar, he held out the ring and thought,

'No more horrific than what  **he** will do.’

The ring slipped onto his finger, and his vision blurred. The whispers began to scratch at his mind, but he didn't care. He contained a relieved sigh, before stealing a glance behind. Oh how he wished he hasn't.

There stood the source of his nightmares. Clad in golden armor, the light from his crown glaring a sickening shine as it stood atop his raven hair, like a glinting set of horns. He tapped the hilt of his seethed golden sword at his hip impatiently. But it wasn't the weapon that scared him. It was the ice cold eyes that scanned the room, looking as mad as ever. As hungry as ever.

“I must commend you,” the dwarf said, his voice resonating through the Treasury. “This is the farthest you made it in our little game.”

Bilbo quickly made a scan of the room to see the clearest path to use. The further he got from him, the better. Just a few more minutes and he'd be free. He spotted the best path, and began to make his way through, only a few feet away from the mad king. 

“It will make catching you all the more  **rewarding** .”

Bilbo contained a shudder at the evident lust in his voice. He couldn't let his words get to him when he was so close he kept past the pillars and a fairly large pile of gold. Suddenly the footsteps started again, but not towards him. It was as if he was circling the room. Like a predator stalking his prey. Bilbo glanced up the the crevice. The sun was almost down, he almost won. 

“Don't think you've won just yet. I still have five minutes “

The dwarf king’s natural rumble had turned into a good risk as he circled every like, causing Bilbo to dodge him, sometimes only a hair’s inch away. The clicking of the boots and insistent tapping his finger on the sword matched Bilbo’s pulse. It would be the longest five minutes of his life.

Thankfully, in the countless number of times he had participated in this sick game, he had learned all the best hiding spots. There was one nice crook near the stairwell that would serve him a few minutes. He picked up a stray coin on the ground gently, before mapping out his route. Once finding the clearest path, he took all his might, and threw the coin to the opposite side of the room. As the jingling of gold falling to the ground sounded, Bilbo scampered quickly.

As he ran a clear path to the spot, he looked up at the blurred crevice. The light was barely viable. Bilbo felt his heart swell. He could finally leave this accursed mountain. He could finally leave this cruel mountain. He could finally leave  **him** .

The staircase was in the front of him, and he smiled as he began to crop underneath. Once situated in the corner, he fell to ground in a crouch. Stealing a glance at the crevice, he felt his heart skip a beat as the light began to flicker out. 

'Yes! I wi-!’

His breath hitched as something sharp was pressed to his throat. No. No it was impossible. There was no way-.

“Did you really think I wouldn't remember your little hiding spots?”

His blood ran cold as he watched the light die out. Tears welled in his eyes as his hope died with it.  

“Time's up. Take off the ring.”

Bilbo swallowed any protest. He could just stay still, and perhaps he'd think he was mistaken. Or maybe he'd slit his throat.

'Let him,’ the voice from the ring whispered. 'It'll be better than what you already have.’

'No!’ he thought back, trying to gather his senses. 

'Tis better to die yourself than to live a husk. Don't you think so, halfling?’

'No! Not when I still have a life at Bag End!’

'He will never let you go.’

'Yes, he will! He promised!’

'Really? After all this, you still believe his promises?’

'shutupshutupshutupshutup SHUT UP!’

A flash of light and suddenly the world became clear in confusion, he looked at his hands, and stiffened. He took off the ring. He heard a dark chuckle from above, and his heart hammered like Mahala’s hammer against his chest. He refused to look up. But he didn't need to to know he was smirking.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” Bilbo muttered in defeat, but continues not to look at him. 

It was only when the sword lifted his chin up that his head even shifted upwards. But he continued to stare down. Then he heard a shifting of footing, and suddenly felt breath on his ear.

“You lost, Bilbo,” he growled. “Why must you continue to defy me?”

“You said I could go home if you didn't find me,”Bilbo breathed. “The sun went down before you saw-.”

“I found you,” the dwarf bit out. “I do not need to see you to find you.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “You promised-.”

Bilbo’s words died as a hand grasped his throat. Not to choke him, never to choke. That would be too easy. Instead it forced Bilbo's to face the holder of his freedom. Of his life.

“Do not speak to me of promises,  **burglar** .”

Suddenly, the hand was on his arm, and dragged hi. From his spot. The bruise that had almost healed from the last “hunt” began to reform, causing Bilbo pain. He tripped over his feet, not that he had much time to walk as he was thrown unceremoniously onto a pile of gold.

He slipped in a poor attempt to sit himself up, but was halted when he was forced back in. He was finally forced to look into those cold blue eyes. Unforgiving in their lust as they racked up and down his body, before settling in his neck. He felt tears well up in his eyes as the mad king leaned down and worried the mark already there with his teeth.

“Thorin, please. Just let me go.”

Breath ghosted at his neck as Thorin growled out,”I told you once I would not part with a single piece of gold.”

Bilbo’s breath hitched as Thorin wound his hand in his golden blonde curls, tugging them harshly so that the hobbit was forced to stare at his captor with a tear streaming down his face in reference to his pain.

“That especially means you,  _ Ghivashel _ .”

  
  
  
  


_ “If silver is used and gold is hoarded than how can gold be of higher monetary value?” ~Wili Way _

 

It felt as if it had been a dream. Going through the motions of that day. Nothing had an effect on her. Not the people of Dale’s worry nor the council’s condolences. Not even her own family’s love affected her, She was set on feeling one emotion, and one emotion alone.

Yet she kept it contained as she walked into the Council of the Lonely Mountain. Being Dale’s chief ambassador to the surrounding kingdoms, she could not afford to let her personal life affect her professionalism. Instead she walked into the stone carved hall with her head held high and appearance well kept. There was no redness in her eyes, her hair flowed down her back in loose curls as the braids at her temples prevented any stray strands in her face, and her pale blue dress trimmed in fur was clean and pressed, fanning out behind her as she gracefully took her seat next to Prince Legolas. She was the image of what the Princess of Dale should be.

No one would have suspected that her her third suitor had just died.

Whispers carried through all the kingdoms of the tragedy that was Lady Sigrid’s courtships. Her first suitor had been an arrogant Lordling from some little kingdom of man west of Gondor. He had persistent and confident in his courting. But halfway through the tournament commemorating her brother’s name day, he had pulled his contract for unknown reasons and ran back to his homeland. Tall-tales came not long after in the markets, gossip of how he was too scared of his upcoming dwarf opponent.

The second suitor had no reason to be afraid of dwarves. He was the head Clansman from the Blue Mountains. He was a decade short of her father’s age, but still plenty older than her Yet he was plenty kind, and had quite the sense of humor. He told her his brothers in arms forced him to seek out a courtship to produce an heir. He laughed and said he had produced enough bastard sons in his day to fight over the title, but he’d be more then happy to offer her a life of adventure, exploring the Blue Mountains and the multiple races and cultures with his nomadic clan Oh, to a young Bargeman’s daughter who had lost too much and had too many regrets in the place she once called home, she could not have accepted his courtship sooner. 

Yet her dreams had been crushed when during the festival on Durin’s Day, he fell drunk down an abandoned mineshaft. She had wept after the council meeting that day. One of the dwarven guards had attempted to cheer her up, but failed miserably when he said, “It’s just the luck of the halflings, m’lady.” Yet she didn’t have time to reprimand him, as the prince of the mountain beckoned for him to meet him in private. She never saw that guard again. 

But the last one had finally revealed why. Evian was the sickly yet sharp minded Prince of Rohan, and his offer was the best of all them: a fake marriage. He would whisk her away from the shadow of the cursed mountain, from the ghost that was Dale, from the ashes of Laketown, and would induct her as a shieldmaiden of Rohan. He had confided that due to a hunting accident in his youth, he could not produce heirs, so marriage was not what he seeked. Instead, he had told Bard The tales of their predicament, and had come to Rohan’s ears, and he had theorised the possibility of assassination attempts. Until the perpetrators could be caught, Sigrid’s life was in danger. Should she come to Rohan under the guise of his intended, Bard could rat out the perpetrators while she remained a safe distance, all the while offering a trading opportunity between Dale and Rohan. Intrigued by his intellect, Sigrid had found herself a kinship towards the brilliant prince, and agreed.

That is until he coughed up blood but a fortnight ago at the feast celebrating their engagement, and died in his bed not but an hour later.

And just like that, gossip spread that she was cursed. Doomed to never take a husband. Superstition spread wildfire, as did her rage. But not toward the gossipers. They were right. She was cursed, but not in the way they thought.

The only curse in her life was sitting opposite her on the rounded table. Dressed in Durin blue garb, adorned with a silver breastplate and a knowing smile tugging his mustache braids upwards.

“Lady Sigrid, my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,Lord Balin, she said as curtly as she could manage to the elder dwarf sitting aside a monster. “Shall we get to the matters at hand?”

The meeting had little importance. Just preparation for the upcoming small harvest. The only thing that was out of place was the pitiful glances given to her whenever she spoke.She hated being felt sorry for. The only thing she hated more was the look the Crown Prince of Erebor gave her.

He looked at her with no pity or even kindness. No, he looked at her with malice, with hunger. In mock pity with a slight tilt of his head as he seemed to devour her stormy grey eyes with his cruel blue ones. And her rage built with every passing second he stared at her.

When the meeting was adjourned, she quickly rose from her seat and made her way to the door, only to be halted when she heard, “Lady Sigrid, I wish to speak to you.”

She tentatively took a breath as she turned around to see the grinning dwarf. An excuse failed to form in her mind, and she hated herself as she scrambled for some way out of this.

“Lady Sigrid needs to return to home. Her father requested I return her as soon as the meeting was adjourned.”

Never had she been so grateful for Legolas then now. That is until the dwarf prince’s didn't break his gaze at her as he replied, “And she will. As soon as  **our** meeting is adjourned.”

Legolas looked as if he was about to retaliate, that is before he was forcefully escorted by a guard outside the hall, leaving Sigrid alone with the lion. He just stared at her, before pulling out the seat next to his own.

“Come. Sit.”

She stood still for a moment, before her feet carried her to the seat. She gently sat down, attempting to keep her shaking to a minimum. He then took his seat next to her, and opened a bottle of wine on the table, and poured it into a goblet before handing it to her.

“For you, my lady,” he said, small shocks tingling through her as she tentatively reached for the goblet and their fingers brushed.

She looked at the goblet, swirling it to see if it was discolored in any shape or form, or if there was residue of powder at the bottom. As the prince poured his own goblet, she carefully went to sniff it, before his voice startled her.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you're looking for.”

The red liquid dripped like blood on her collarbone as the drink sloshed it. It stained the top of her bodice and sleeves, dripping between the slight exposure of cleavage and dripping down her dress as she set down the goblet and turned to glare at the smirking prince who lifted his goblet in a mock toast.

“I have no reason to kill you.”

As he downed the wine, she felt her spite boil as she bite out,” But did you when you poisoned Prince Evian?”

He paused in his drinking, looking up at her from the cup before muttering, “I don’t know what your talking about.”

“The Nightshade flower. Plenty pretty to look at, but very poisonous to ingest. However, should you mix it with the equally poisonous roots of the Spider Lily, it creates a potion that could be used to kill someone, and make it appear as it was a heart failure.”

He placed his cup down with a loud Clank! Causing the table to rumble as he looked up at her, feigning innocence.

“Quite the remarkable mind you have, my lady. But I fail to see-.”

“Nightshade only grows on the side of the Lonely Mountain in this region,” she continued, keeping her clenched fists at her side. “And Spider Lilies only grow in underground pools in caves or mountains. Do not try to protest, I know my poisons. There was residue of the powdered mixture at the bottom of Prince Evian’s cup.”

“I have no doubt you do. And if you are suggesting an assassination attempt, then I concur with your deduction.” He took up the bottle and began refiling his goblet. “But anyone with enough knowledge of poisons in this area could have done it, why accuse me?”

“Because not everyone has a pearl encrusted silver ring.”

The wine sloshed over the table, and Sigrid held back a wince. She trained her eyes on spilled liquid instead of the face she knew had finally lost its charming facade.

“Lord Grovian of the Blue Mountains had a silver ring encrusted with a pearl clutched in his hand when we found him,” she produced the small ring from her pocket and set it on the table. “It could have been a gift or he could have picked it off the floor. But then I realized I had seen that exact ring elsewhere. Upon your hand earlier that night, Prince Fili.”

The red liquid shifted as he backed out of his seat. She nay dare to leave her gaze of the spoiled wine as she heard him stalk behind her.

“And how do you know he didn’t steal it?”

She swallowed thickly. “Clansmen have no use for jewels. They prefer leathers and bronze to gems and gold.”

“And how do you know I didn’t give it to him?”

She jumps as he placed both hands on the head of her chair, mere inches from her own head. She bite her lip as she felt him lean over, the chair creaking as he leaned forward.

“How come I don’t get the benefit of the doubt? How come you think I didn’t give it to him?”

Sigrid found her voice and croaked out, “B-because you’re-.”

“Because I’m  **what** ?” he purred, but it sounded so close to a growl next to her ear. His mouth was ghosting the shell of her ear as he breathed into it. “Go on. Say it.”

“G-gold sick.”

He let the chair fall back into place, and Sigrid let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. But she felt her body shudder as she heard an unnervingly dark laugh. Suddenly the chair was spun around and she was eye to eye with the mad prince.

“Well done, my lady! Quiet the mind you have,” he said, not sounding the least bit sincere. Only menacing. She stiffened as he took a lock of her hair between his fingers, and stroked it softly. “I knew you were perfect.”

In disgust, Sigrid bolted upwards and stormed over to the door, trying to drown out his laughing. He was mad. This place was mad. She needed to cleanse her skin in the lake to escape this sickness.

“And where might you be going, pretty Sigrid.” 

She winced at the pet name he had dubbed her. Once upon a time, she might’ve blushed and teased him back. But that was befor the mountain, when they were..something. But this was not her friend behind her. This was a stranger in his skin.

“Not to expose you,” she told him truthfully. “Another war is the last thing I’d wish for.”

She began to retract the door open when he spoke again.

“Funny, since it was a war that brought us together the last time.”

She stiffened, before carefully shutting the door with her trembling hands as she turned to him, her eyes fierce in anger.

“We promised never to speak of that,” she hissed. “That has nothing to do with this.”

He advanced upon her. Even with his smaller height, he was intimidating as he came upon her, growling out, “It has  **everything** to do with this.”

Her breath caught in her throat as it dawned on her, and she could barely stammered out.

“I-is that why-why you….You killed them….Because of what  **we** did?”

He smirked as he was finally only inches away from her, his head tilted upwards as he stared at her with sinister intent.

“It’s not as if you felt anything  **significant** for them.”

She wanted to lie and say he was wrong, but his hand came up to caress her cheek, and her words died on her tongue.

“I was saving you, Sigrid. I was saving  **us** .”

She shuddered as he ran his thumb across her lips, like he had done so long ago. She swallowed thickly and whispered out,

“Fili...There-there is no  **us** .” His eyes turned feral as his thumb nicked her bottom lip. She felt a bead of blood form, but continued her pathetic pleas. “What happened between us that night, t-that was nothing-.”

“You might be clever, pretty Sigrid, but you must be really naive if you think that what happened was  **nothing.”**

“Please..Fili, you were weak. You were hurt, I was hurt. I lost my home.. You lost your brother. We both weren’t in the right state of mind! If you think this madness is you doing the honorable thing-.”

She squeaked as he yanked her down to his level, his face mere inches from hers. She felt her entire body shake as he stared at her with lust ridden hunger.

“You truly are naive. This isn’t  me being honorable, this is me stating what is  **mine** . You are mine, Sigrid. You’ve been mine since I first laid eyes on you in Laketown.  Since the Dragon. Since you tended to my wounds after the battle. Since you allowed me to take you in that tent”

She held back her urge to cringe as he broke the rule they made:never speak of that night. It caused her deep shame, to have him voice her insecurities. That in a moment of weakness, she had offered herself, like a whore, in an attempt to help bury his demons as well as her own. And she had failed on both parts. She felt shame flood her, and didn't even notice him toying with a strand of her hair as he whispered in her ear.

“You blush like a maid, my sweet. But we both know that's not true anymore. That was also mine... Mahala, you were so perfect. So beautiful, withering in my arms. Taking me into the depths of your womb. Moaning my name. I can still hear you. How prettily you sang that night. Your sweet song still haunts me at night, little thrush bird.”

She feels a familiar thrum in her stomach, and is disgusted with herself. With him for making her like this. He pulled back, and she was taken aback by the momentary gentleness in his eyes as he brushed the strand behind her ear.

“And when my uncle finally dies-”

“Are you planning to poison him as well?” She mocked, trying to hide her fear, her hurt, and to keep something else in bay. “That's treason, even for a prince-.”

He scoffed. “My uncle is a fool. If it wasn't for me, the kingdom would have fallen apart. Do you wonder why he rarely attends these meetings? He's either counting his gold or fucking his hobbit. Erebor could be taken by another Smaug, and he'd continue to count his gold and fuck his hobbit till the world ends. When I do off with him, they'll be praising me. And when I'm finally king, you will be my queen. You will be mine. Not Rohan’s, not the Clansmen’s, not Dale’s. Mine and mine alone. And I will fuck you exactly like I did in the tents, and any other way until you learn just how wrong you were about this being  **nothing** .”

Sigrid felt tears well up in her eyes as the horror of his words sunk in. This wasn't Fili. This wasn't the dwarf who had given her kind smiles, who she joked with and danced with. Who had tried to make light jokes about the deep stab wound in his abdomen as she changed the dressings. Who had held her tight and cried after their first lying, begging for her forgiveness, and had taken his time to slowly and lovingly show her how sorry he was. That was her Fili.  This Fili spoke with hatred towards his kin. Spoke such filth towards her. This was not her Fili.

“Your mad,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“Perhaps.” 

Suddenly, he sobbered up and Sigrid had no time to prepare. He pinned both her hands at against the door beside her head, and leaned in with a predatory expression. Panic flooded through her and a single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. And her blood ran cold as he leaned down a n d kissed the tear drop hanging at the jaw. No protest rose within her. Just shock as he slowly followed the trail with small pecks. Despite herself, she was reminded of a similar time where he had kissed her face with such reverence and tenderness. The feeling in her stomach came back and she was mortified. Shock strummed through her as he spoke in-between peppered kisses. 

“But not for gold. Never for gold. I'm not my uncle…”

He paused as he came to the top of her cheekbone. She opened her eyes-when had she closed them?- and saw his clouded blue eyes ravage her grey ones.

“No...I've always preferred silver.”

She gasped as he suddenly smashed his lips against hers. A pang of pain shot through her as he kissed her with a bruising force, as his teeth but into the small cut, causing the bead of blood to swell. She felt light headed and clenched her hands into fists, and he tightened his grip on her wrists. And against her will, she felt him sucknout all her rage, and replace it with fear. And she remained fearfully as she closed her eyes and allowed him access to her mouth as he chased her blood with his tongue. 

  
  


_ “If instead of a gem, or even a flower, we should cast the gift of a loving thought into the heart of a friend, that would be giving as the angels give.” ~George MacDonald _   
  


He let a scream escaped his mouth as the images of that wretched mountain danced in front of him. Missions of his brother cackling like a mad dwarf as he watched Dale but to dust. His uncle standing over the corpses of the company, stepping on her cold bodies as he muttering, “It's here….Must find it… My right.”

Murderous rage overwhelmed him as he unsheathed his dagger and charged at the beast in his uncle’s skin, screaming a battle cry as he stumbled to feet, only to be pulled back down.

He fought off the arms wrapped around him as he swung the blade around, screaming curses in every possible language. That is until he heard her voice beckon him.

“Kili! Kili! Kili, it's just a dream!”

Suddenly he opened his eyes, and felt his chest heave and his entire body drenched in sweat. He looked above to see green eyes staring at him in fear and concern, and he felt shame.

“Tauriel,”he whispered.

“My love, it was only a dream,” she assured him, caressing his face.

He felt tears gather in his eyes, and buried his face in his One’s shoulder to weep. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair as he hiccuped.

“I'm sorry...I'm so sorry…”

She shushed him gently. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“No. No there is.” He pulled back and looked up at her with red rimmed eyes. “You are tied to a broken dwarf, _marlel_. I'm a coward.”

“You are not broken,” she snapped. “You are not a coward.”

“I know he wasn't well! I knew he still had the gold sickness! I saw it in his eyes! I should have told them, I should have warned them!”

“Kili, it was in all of them. No one would have believed you-.”

“I LEFT MY KIN TO A MAD DWARF!”

Tauriel stiffened, and he felt awful for yelling at her. But the was too much pain. 

“I left my kin to that mountain. My own brother… He wasn't in the right state of mind. Now he must think me dead,” he choked you a sob. “M-Mahal knows what's become of his mind. And-and Bilbo-!”

A sense of dread washed through him as he recalled how he had first came to witness the glint of gold sickness in his uncle’s eyes. It had been when he had stared at Bilbo in the healing tents. All the lust and obsession in his eyes.

“Oh Mahala, I left Bilbo to the dragon,” he whispered as he curled into a ball, only to be untangled by Tauriel.

“Kiki, Kili, stop- Kili! - Kili, look at me- no, no look at me!”

He looked into her eyes which were wide with sparrow and determination. He felt himself shrink under their intense gaze.

“You left no one behind. You and you alone recognized what was happening, and you and you alone took it upon yourself to go out in search of the cure to dragon sickness. You are no coward, Kili, son of Vili. You are brave. The bravest dwarf who ever lived.”

Kili stared at her in adoration as his heart swelled at her words. He gave her a cheeky smile through his tears and said, “You only say that because I'm a great lover.”

She laughed before pulling him into a deep kiss. He melted into her arms, his hand finding purchase in her fiery hair. He melded their mouths together more passionately as he flipped them over, so he was sitting atop her, and broke the kiss. She panted heavily, before smirking up at him.

“I'm afraid I can't remember if you that's true. Care to refresh my memory,  _ Melamin _ ?”

Mahala, she will be the death of him. As he pulled down her green shift and payed homage to every one of her freckles with his lips, he felt himself slip slightly into the madness.

He held no love for gold like his uncle. No obsession with silver as his brother did. No, his kin could keep their riches. For the elf in his arms was the greatest jewel that will ever be his.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Oh geez, I hope that wasn't too bad! I'm so sorry my, if it was weird, please comment and tell me whats wrong. But if you like it, you are such an understanding and accepting person, an I love you. Thank you for reading this! Please comment and give kudos if you like!  
> Givashel- treasure or all treasures  
> Marlel-love of all loves


End file.
